[Please save me.]

Sometimes I have dreams about the too-young woman, pressing her baby to her breast under a thick jacket, praying the baby doesn't make a sound. Letting her hands fall into practiced poses, aligning her spine to the lines she saw thousands of times as a child, removing the fire from her eyes. Telling the guard she's "just running an errand." Her feeling the breath and blood come back to her after he, in an act inexplicable to one who does not understand it, lets her go on, even though he was instructed to apprehend anyone he saw... why did he trust her?

"anything is possible while we exist."